by Ron Rash
“It wasn’t in there.”
“Let’s look in mine.”
Miss Calicut pulled a dictionary from the wooden shelf above the fire grate. She turned to the V’s and let her index finger slide down the page.
“It’s not in mine either. Where’d you see the word?”
“It was on a sort of medal.”
“Any other words on it?”
“No.”
“Was the word capitalized?” Miss Calicut asked. “It could be a last name or a place.”
“I couldn’t tell. The letters looked the same size.”
“It could be a foreign word, but it’s not Latin or French sounding. Are you needing to get back home quick?”
“No, ma’am.”
“If we can find him, I think I know someone who can tell us,” Miss Calicut said. “Just give me a minute to tidy up.”
Laurel crossed the room to see the parakeet better.
“An art student at the college painted that for me,” Miss Calicut said. “I thought my students ought to know such a pretty bird once lived in these mountains.”
“I saw a few last winter,” Laurel said.
“Last winter?” Miss Calicut asked. “There was an article in the Asheville paper that claimed there were none left.”
“It looked to be five or six.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Miss Calicut said. “Something that pretty needs to be in the world, don’t you think?”
Laurel nodded as Miss Calicut stepped from behind her desk.
“I’m ready,” Miss Calicut said. “We’ll try his office at the college first.”
They walked along Main Street and then through the arch and up the hill. Miss Calicut had brought Laurel’s class to the college on a field trip once, and like the classroom chairs, the campus was smaller than Laurel remembered, but the college was still a wonder with its wide green lawn and bell tower and whole buildings where all a person did was learn about things. If it had just been about having the smarts, I could have gone to school here, Laurel told herself, and a bitterness not felt in years overcame her.
“There,” Miss Calicut said, and pointed to a brick building with ARTS AND SCIENCES chiseled on its gable. “I don’t know if Professor Mayer’s in his office, but we can at least see.”
They entered the building and walked down the hallway, the fresh-polished floors shining dully. They passed several offices, including one with a name on the door Laurel recognized from the petition. Miss Calicut raised her hand to her mouth as they stood before the last door, its pebbled-glass window shattered. On the wood beneath, HUN was printed in slashes of red paint.
“I didn’t know it had gotten this bad for him,” Miss Calicut said.
“What do you mean?” Laurel asked.
“Professor Mayer teaches foreign languages, including German, and there have been rumors that he’s some sort of spy. It’s ridiculous, of course. The poor man is in his seventies. He’s kind and generous and no more a spy than I am.”
An office door up the hall opened and a man in a coat and tie stared at them.
“Come on,” Miss Calicut told Laurel. “I know where he lives.”
They walked back through town and followed Lee Street past Miss Calicut’s boardinghouse and down another block.
“To be treated so badly because of a few foolish people,” Miss Calicut sighed, “but you’ve had plenty of experience with that, haven’t you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They came to a small white house whose windows were curtained. Miss Calicut knocked on the door.
“He doesn’t hear well,” Miss Calicut said, and rapped the wood harder. “Professor Mayer?”
A hand peeled back a curtain edge, but the door did not open.
“Who is it?” a muffled voice answered.
“Amanda Calicut.”
“Who?”
“Amanda Calicut. You taught me Latin years ago. I teach at the elementary school.”
The brass knob turned and the door slowly opened. A man in a rumpled suit and bow tie stood before them, his hand on the knob as if he might yet close the door. He was no taller than Laurel, rosy cheeked and white haired. Around his head was a metal band, on one end an earpiece. A wire attached the band to a gadget clipped on his shirt.
“We’re sorry to bother you, Professor,” Miss Calicut said. “We just had a question about something. But if you don’t want visitors . . .”
Professor Mayer took his hand off the doorknob.
“No, do come in. I didn’t mean to be rude, but there have been some incidents of late.”
“I know,” Miss Calicut said, “and like I told Laurel, it’s a disgrace.”
“Please,” Professor Mayer said, and nodded at a settee.
He shuffled across the room and sat down in a leather armchair. A Windsor chair, that’s what it was called, Laurel knew, though she’d only seen one in the wish book. The room smelled of tobacco and the wintergreen salve she’d rubbed on her father’s skin those last years. A bookshelf covered a whole wall, more volumes than Laurel had ever seen except in a library. Professor Mayer turned a small knob on his hearing machine.
“I can’t offer you much as far as refreshment,” Professor Mayer said. “I don’t expect many visitors these days.”
“We’re fine,” Miss Calicut answered, and rose from the settee, handed Professor Mayer the paper. “Do you know what this word means?”
Professor Mayer quickly gave it back and glanced toward the door.
“Did somebody send you?”
“No, sir,” Miss Calicut answered. “I mean, Laurel asked me, but she didn’t send me to you. I just thought you might know.”
“Perhaps it’s best if you leave now,” Professor Mayer said, and rose from the chair.
“It was on a medallion I saw,” Laurel said. “I just want to know what it means.”
Professor Mayer did not sit back down, but he didn’t shuffle toward the door either.
“This medallion, did you get it at the internment camp in Hot Springs?”
“So it is German,” Miss Calicut said. “I knew it wasn’t a romance language.”
“I didn’t get it up there,” Laurel said. “I found it.”
“Where?” Miss Calicut asked.
Laurel hesitated.
“Near the river, on the bank.”
“The German prisoner who escaped,” Miss Calicut said. “Do you think it belonged to him?”
Professor Mayer’s eyes remained on Laurel. Still suspicious, she could tell, but also curious.
“When you found the medallion,” he asked, “was anyone nearby?”
“No, sir.”
“The word,” Miss Calicut asked. “What does it mean?”
Professor Mayer raised a hand to his forehead as if to confirm a fever. He took the hand away and grimaced.
“What Chauncey Feith and those others are claiming, I know it’s not true,” Miss Calicut said. “Laurel and I both would never do or say anything to harm you.”
“It means fatherland,” Professor Mayer said.
“Fartherland?” Laurel asked.
“No,” Professor Mayer said, and pronounced the word more slowly. “It’s also the name of a German ocean liner, one that got stranded in New York Harbor in 1914. When we entered the war, part of the crew was sent to Hot Springs.”
“Of course,” Miss Calicut said. “I knew all that. I’d forgotten the ship’s name.”
“Why didn’t it sail back to Germany?” Laurel asked.
“The French or British would have sunk it,” Professor Mayer said.
“What did they do?” Laurel asked. “I mean those three years.”
“Almost anything they pleased,” Professor Mayer answered. “Ruser, the commodore, told me he went to museums
and symphonies, even banquets. Then in 1917 the ship was seized and the men declared enemy aliens.”
Laurel grew dizzy for a few moments, the room tilting slightly before leveling again. She had walked three miles and hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but that wasn’t the cause. There was too much to try and understand. It was like stepping into what looked like a shallow stream and suddenly being underwater with a suckhole pulling her deeper.
“Are you all right, Laurel?” Miss Calicut asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Laurel said.
“Let me get you some water, child,” the professor said.
He left the room and returned with a filled glass. Laurel took a swallow, then another.
“I suspect you’ve heard more than enough so we can go,” Miss Calicut said.
“No, ma’am, I want to hear more, I really do,” Laurel said, setting the empty glass beside the settee. “So the Vaterland wasn’t a ship for a war but like the Titanic?”
“More impressive than the Titanic,” Professor Mayer said. “When I was up at Hot Springs last April, the men swore the Vaterland made the Titanic look like a river barge. Prussian bombast, I assumed, but then I did some research. It is the largest ship ever built, and Pompeiian in its extravagance—silk curtains, marble washstands, gold cutlery, even bath pools and a wintergarden. But no more. What wasn’t plundered was thrown overboard.”
Professor Mayer went to the shelf and took out a book, withdrew a yellowing newspaper article and handed it to Miss Calicut.
“I probably should get rid of it. If found here it would only cause further suspicion,” Professor Mayer said, and sat back down. He closed his eyes a moment, let out a sigh as he opened them. “This whole matter is so ironic. I was initially summoned to Hot Springs to read postcards and letters, to make sure the internees were not spies.”
“Read it along with me, Laurel,” Miss Calicut said, and held it between them.
Below a photograph of the ocean liner was a caption.
War Charity Fete on the Vaterland
Giant Hamburg-American Liner
Houses a Fancy Dress
Festival
To Aid Central Powers
“They were raising money for Germany, not us,” Miss Calicut exclaimed.
“Look at the date,” Professor Mayer said. “Nevertheless, I understand Mr. Hearst has had cause to regret his presence there.”
“The Vaterland’s a troop ship now, isn’t it?” Laurel asked.
“Yes,” Professor Mayer said. “It’s called the Leviathan.”
“I knew that too,” Laurel said. “It was in the Marshall Sentinel a while back.”
For a few moments they were all silent. Laurel looked around the room. Next to the bookshelves was a painting of a blue sky above green hills, but the curtains shut out so much light the painting was drab as the bookshelves. It seemed a shame that the curtains were closed.
“The medallion,” Laurel asked. “You think it belonged to a German who escaped?”
“It’s certainly possible,” Professor Mayer said.
“Didn’t they think he got away on a train?” Miss Calicut asked.
“They presumed so,” Professor Mayer answered. “The boat he stole was found below the trestle. A mill worker later claimed to have encountered him, but the search dogs couldn’t pick up a trail. Of course, someone could have caught him and decided to exact his own justice. Such things have occurred. American citizens have been hanged by mobs, just because they spoke German.”
“If somehow he was still around and he got caught, do you think people might do that to him?” Laurel asked. “I mean, if I happened to see him, would it be better not to say anything?”
“Of course not,” Professor Mayer said, “a man in such desperate straits is capable of anything, including killing, to protect himself.”
“Professor Mayer’s right,” Miss Calicut said. “You have no cause to think he’s still around, do you?”
“No, ma’am,” Laurel answered.
“After two months, he’s surely far away,” Professor Mayer said.
“Surely,” Miss Calicut agreed.
“This medallion, what did you do with it?” Professor Mayer asked.
“I hid it.”
“Keep it hidden, child,” Professor Mayer said. “Were someone to see it there could be serious trouble for you. Libenter homines id quad volunt credunt.”
“Men are glad to believe that which they wish for?” Miss Calicut asked.
Professor Mayer smiled for the first time.
“Well done. I’m glad you took my Latin class and not my German. No doubt Chauncey Feith and his minions would accuse you of teaching the children to be spies. It is best to keep what we have discussed among ourselves.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Miss Calicut replied.
“I won’t either,” Laurel said. “But that article. If you aren’t of a mind to keep it, I’d like to have it. I’ll keep it hid with the medallion.”
“I don’t believe that would be wise,” Professor Mayer answered. “If someone found out I gave it to you . . .”
“I’d not tell them, I promise. I’d say I’d found the article and the medallion together.”
Professor Mayer hesitated a few moments longer.
“Please,” Laurel said.
“All right,” he sighed. “But show it to no one else, at least not until this war is over.”
Miss Calicut stood and Laurel did as well.
“Thank you for your time, Professor,” Miss Calicut said.
“Yes, thank you,” Laurel said.
“Well,” Miss Calicut said as they stepped off the porch, “we’ve had quite an afternoon.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Laurel said.
They walked back up Lee Street until they stood in front of Mrs. Jarvis’s boardinghouse.
“Want to come in for tea and a piece of sweet bread?”
“Thank you, but no,” Laurel said. “I need to get back to the cove.”
Miss Calicut took her hand.
“Think about finishing school, Laurel. It’s not too late. Even if you can’t teach around here because of some ignorant folks, there are other places.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Laurel said. “Thank you for helping me, and not just today.”
Miss Calicut went inside and Laurel checked the clock tower. Both hands were on the three, pointing west toward the cove. She couldn’t shake the notion that the hands being locked like that was some kind of omen. It could be two hands clasped or two hands bound. There’d be a telephone in the boardinghouse and she could have Miss Calicut call the high sheriff in Marshall, or Laurel could walk all the way to the county courthouse and find the high sheriff herself. That way no mob would get hold of him.
Capable of anything, Professor Mayer had said, but Walter could have killed her and Hank while they slept, or stolen what little they had and gone on. He hadn’t come to the cabin on his own or asked to stay. Laurel had brought him and Hank had given him a job. He’d have never come off the ridge otherwise.
But he had stayed, eaten their food and slept in their bed. They’d trusted him with their very lives but he’d not trusted them, even after he and Laurel had laid down together. Even after that. Laurel thought of the morning she’d heard him speak but believed it a dream. But the dream was thinking a man with no cause to do so would wander into the cove and want to stay there with her. How could she have ever believed such a thing for a minute, much less this long? And yet, he had come back when he could have left on the train, and the one word he had said, of all the words in German or English, had been her name.
Laurel passed the last storefront and soon only trees lined the pike. If she did go straight back to the cove, what about Hank, who’d told Michael Davenport he wished he could kill a dozen Germans for what they’d done. And the
German who’d pretended to be wounded, tricking Hank with words, pretending to be English. She’d have to explain that the men at Hot Springs weren’t soldiers at all, never had been, but that might not matter to Hank. He might turn Walter in anyway, or worse. It would be safer to tell Hank after the war ended. If Walter was still around. Maybe all he’d wanted was a place so lonesome no one would know him a German until it no longer mattered. Then he could return to New York or Germany or wherever he wanted, alone. Perhaps he had been willing to do everything possible to stay in the safety of the cove, even lay down with Laurel.
The ghostlike feeling she’d had last October came upon her again, so she watched for anything that would anchor her to the world—the feel of her feet on the pike, the chuffing of a woodcock, what shadow she might cast, most of all for what waited until now to show its brightness—the scarlet sumac and yellow clumps of sneezeweed, purple galax, and, as she crossed over a spring flow, the silver bark of a beech tree. She passed a last field where orange pumpkins squatted, close by a haystack golden in the afternoon sun. Laurel touched the newspaper article in her pocket, something else real. She stopped and took it out, read it again in hopes something might be in it to help her know what to do.
The giant Hamburg-American liner Vaterland, which has been resting quietly alongside her pier in Hoboken since the beginning of the war, was ablaze with lights last night above and below deck when the ship was thrown open to the public for a concert and festival in aid of the war charities of the Central Powers. It is expected that $7,000 will be added to the fund by the fete.
The big courtyard was filled with automobiles and the pier was decorated with colored lights and flags in honor of the occasion. Employees of the steamship line, dressed in fancy costumes, met the guests at the entrance and drove them on electric trolleys to the gangway.
Six hundred and fifty or more members of the German-American colony in New York and their friends paid $10 a ticket for admission and bought all kinds of souvenirs on board to aid the fund. After the supper served in the grand dining saloon there was a concert in the music room under the direction of Otto Goritz of the Metropolitan Opera Company, a cabaret show in the drawing room on the sun deck, dancing in the ballroom and all kinds of other entertainments to amuse the guests.